


Passage

by sasha_b



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick and Shane attend the prom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passage

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-series. Language, slash.

Shane’s drunk.

He reaches into the front pocket of his ill fitting, rented suit, and pulls his father’s flask out, the whiskey burning a lovely path down his throat to his stomach, warming, wanted. Rick’s sitting on the dirty ground next to him, the school still shabby even when decorated up. They take up all the space between the sets of lockers that line the wall in the section of B building.

“A fucking aquarium, man,” Shane laughs as he drinks, his hair pulling slightly against the brick behind his head. Rick’s suit is perfect, of course, and his date, Janey Anderson, is pretty and smart like Rick is. Shane’s brought Melissa Brown with him, just a girl, nothin’ special, but she’s sexy and has big boobs and a nice butt and a good smile and is funny so that’s fine enough for him.

Rick and he had already had some beers (or five; he’s lost count) at Shane’s, so when he passes the flask to where Rick’s sitting, the other boy takes it without question and drinks. The lights flicker a bit; he wonders if that’s supposed to be part of the “undersea” effect. Prob’ly just the school not paying its bills. He snorts and drinks again when Rick passes it back to him. “I think it’s supposed to be the ocean,” Rick answers, delayed, wavery. He turns his head, shoulders still plastered to the wall, blue eyes catching Shane’s dark ones. “You don’t like it?”

“Looks like a fucking dirty pool,” Shane slurs. He laughs and knocks his knee into Rick’s. Both of them sit on the floor, waiting for their dates, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the prom niceties to be done so they can _Shane_ get some action or _Rick_ have a nice kiss and chat before driving the girls home.

“What’re we even doin’ here, Rick,” Shane adds, “not like we can’t just have a normal date with them two girls. Why’d we agree to this again?” He slugs from the flask and passes it back, thinking about high school, and how it’s almost over and how he’s not sure what in the hell he’s going to do in the fall – he’s blown his football chances by fucking up his knee (he still wants to cry when he thinks about that, fucking sissy) and he’s not good for much else but manual labor and lovin’ and what in Jesus fuck is he gonna do when Rick leaves, as he inevitably has to? The other boy is too good at all of it. Life, everything. Shane leans his head back, suit baggy on his broad shoulders, head aching, bladder full of alcohol, hands empty so he tugs on his 22 necklace, wrapping the chain around his pointer finger, back and forth.

But Rick’s next to him and drinking with him and they’re waiting on the girls and he can smell Rick’s sweat and cologne and his friend might leave him in the fall, alone, and he snatches the whiskey out of Rick’s hands and finishes it. Music thumps through the wall and the lights flicker again, and then go out. Both boys make to stand, but a few of the emergency ones come to life, so they slide back down to the floor and laugh, slipping against one another, balance fucked, skin touching, too close, maybe.

The humid wind sneaks through the cracks in the doors that join up near them, and Shane thinks that’s a pretty dumb way to design a door, how is that safe, when Rick slithers over and leans against him. Shane jerks, but he after a minute he slips his arm around the lean shoulders and he sighs, his eyes closing for a brief minute. What in the hell is he gonna do, without this?

He turns his head, to tell Rick that he can’t leave without Shane, that life after high school has to be _together_ , and their noses bang as they’re too close and Shane's lips brush Rick’s without thinking about it. Cause they’re there, and it seems like a good thing to do.

Startling blue eyes, bird egg blue, blood shot with booze, pop open and stare into his own burning ones, and Shane jerks back, hand rising ineffectively to cover his mouth, lips buzzing and tingling and shit –

Rick leans in this time and kisses Shane, and its light at first, it’s _Rick_ at first.  


And then it’s not Rick, it’s not anything like Shane’s used to or does normally, but he turns closer and mumbles something that might be Rick’s name into the other boy’s – they’re 18, shit, they’re men, damn it – mouth and they tear at each other, bruising, whiskey taste, heat and sweat and Shane closes his eyes, hands raising, not sure where to put them.

The lights flicker above their heads and the alcohol turns everything into a pretty swirling mess, all Shane’s feelings mashed into the tiny space in his chest that might be his heart (he guards it pretty fucking well, thank you) and he can feel it thumping, breaking through his chest and he puts his hands on either side of Rick’s smooth face and lets his friend kiss him. It’s – it’s – Rick fuck Rick goddamn Rick. Shane’s heart thrums and catches and the staccato beat is totally uneven and hurried, then slow, then threatening to burst out of his chest, a bloody offering he’d gladly spare for the boy that he can’t seem to get his thoughts straight on.

“Fuck,” he says as Rick is suddenly not there anymore, the space between them large and cold. And then the goddamn lights go out _again_.

Shane stands and Rick’s next to him, and they both look at each other in the gloom, Rick’s tie askew, face flushed, lips red but it’s _Rick’s_ face and it’s the same and Shane lets out a breath he hasn’t realized he’s holding and he grins and rubs his head, hair catching on his slightly shaking fingers.

Rick cocks his head like he always does and the tentative smile that comes is like a fucking prayer after an earthquake. 

The lights flicker back on, and the music thuds through the wall, and Shane reaches out and adjusts Rick’s tie to rights and Rick lets him, standing stock still, so still he’s quivering and the drunkenness that both of them still feel is masked by the silence that accompanies Shane’s gesture.

The bathroom door bangs open and two girls spill out, giggling and hanging on each other until they both see the boys – Rick turns first, Shane’s hands dropping to his sides, his groin uncomfortable - _what the fuck he hadn’t even realized_ \- and they sidle to Rick and each one slips hands through his arms and lead him toward the not quite matching doors. Shane follows but trips over the abandoned flask, bending over to scoop it up, taking a moment, breathing, eyes drifting shut, fingers touching his mouth before he straightens.

He stands up and follows when Melissa calls for him, her butt wiggling as she sashays away, leading Janey who’s leading Rick and Shane’s in the rear of the line and Rick looks back at him finally, and Shane swallows hard and his eyes drop to the round derrière of the girl he’s brought to this rite of passage.

Things will be okay. This is the end of high school, but he and Rick – friends till the end. Rick will help him, Rick won’t leave Shane to molder in this town, broken and good for nothin’ save drinking and whoring and building roads.

Shane looks at the sky when they exit the school for what feels like the final time, stars filling the black, white, tiny, infinitesimal. He pockets the empty flask and catches up to Rick who’s waiting for him, normally smooth hair a bit mussed now. Humid air forces the curl to Shane’s hair, and he smiles, tiny and tight, when Rick reaches up and pulls on a piece by his right ear. 

“Come on,” Rick says, only slightly slurred, and Shane follows him to wherever they’re going. Why in all the great world would he ever do anything but?

The girls giggle and talk and Shane walks next to Rick, occasionally knocking his shoulder into the other boy’s. One tall and slender, one blocky and broad, and Shane only stumbles one more time, his boot catching a rock that he bends over and chucks into the expansive dark, empty, vast planes, possibilities now endless and enduring.


End file.
